


Halfway

by Jinnism



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 20:04:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3990991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinnism/pseuds/Jinnism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If you made to watch the feed at least three minutes longer,” Merlin says, not sounding the least contrite, “You’d noticed how the scenery had moved.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Halfway

**Author's Note:**

> This was done with pure fluff in mind.
> 
> Not brit-picked and self-betaed and as such, responsible for all mistakes made! Criticism and comments are definitely, a hundred percent appreciated!
> 
> *P.S.: Woah, I honestly didn't expect this response for my first fic here on AO3. Thank you for the taking the time to read this!

Eggsy is halfway around the world, kicking back and leaning very close to sleep in what he hasn’t had for two days now, when the call comes in.

“Eggsy,” Merlin greets, and proceeds to drop a bummer, “We need you back in HQ.”

Eggsy, who while trying to doze is also reaching for another glass of whiskey in his attempt to drink out how bruised he feels from vaulting over rooftops in China, curses, “Aw fer fuck’s sake _, Merlin-“_ But doesn’t try anything death-defying like parachute out of the already tilting plane out of spite and protest.

 

* * *

 

 

It isn’t that Eggsy has an aversion to HQ; the place’s damned bloody gorgeous – green and lush and everything he’s couldn’t see himself having, let alone _work in –_ but he figures he gets a free pass to avoid it when he wants to, at the very least the timeframe it took before Merlin, the proper twat, remembered to tell him about the prodigal son – Harry fucking Hart, everybody – surviving a bullet to the head.

The conversation, all in all, went pretty okay.

“There was blood,” Eggsy had moaned, his heart having not stopped jackrabitting in his chest since Merlin had said _Harry lives_ like it was a prologue to a terrible kind of fairy-tale, “There was _gushing_ -“

“If you made to watch the feed at least three minutes longer,” Merlin says, not sounding the least contrite, “You’d _noticed_ how the scenery had _moved.”_

“But you said he’d be _proud_ ,” Eggsy defends then, arms folded and belatedly realising – _fuck it -_ the pounding his heart was going through would possibly, surely and never-endingly be a state it would be in when it came to Harry Hart.

“I say a lot of things,” Merlin continues; scowling at the questionable pile of what was once a tablet now a blackened sad lumpy mess Eggsy had to borrow a shovel and scrape off the sidewalks in Beirut after Merlin had graced him with some pretty graphic and descriptive things about Eggsy’s manbits, “If I made good on every single one- None of you blithering fools would still be here.’

Now that hadn’t been nice.

‘Oy, Merlin-“

Merlin’d sighed; loud and clear and when he looked back up at Eggsy, there were tired lines around his eyes which made whatever Eggsy had to say die shriveled up before it made it to his tongue.

“Do you want to see him or not?” Merlin'd demanded, and Eggsy, having not entertained the idea at that point in time, hadn’t even considered dealing with the grief he knows is hidden somewhere with an unraveling string he needs to pull just _so_ , hadn’t even decided to live beyond one mission and the days of mum and Daisy slated in between, realises that:

a) Harry hart lives, the complete wanker

b) Harry hart lives, the utter _bastard_

“Oh,” He says, and something in the fine lines of reality had cracked, splintering like wood under duress.

 

* * *

 

The plane touches down at an ungodly hour of one in the morning, but Eggsy, having done nothing except sleep his way through a transatlantic flight and maybe ponder a little about the state of HQ, which he is blatantly surprised is still standing, but whatever- nothing with Roxy in it ever goes down, he postulates - comes out of it wide-eyed and awake.

He’s fresh and ready to go kick some ass wherever Merlin needs him be.

“This is a gross misuse of Kingsman property,” Eggsy says mournfully thirty minutes later, a little let down, with his hands deep in soap water, skin pink and mouth open staring at everyone else in what must be the most domestic incident of all domestic incidents Kingsman has needed to handle – hosing down every nook and cranny and thing in HQ after tech lab’s latest cock-up blew up, literally, in their faces and contaminated the whole premise.

Merlin not far down the line of wash buckets filled with soapsuds, and holding a tablet, coordinating clean-up, doesn’t even deign Eggsy with a look. “Kingsman property _are_ responsible for the rest of Kingsman property. Especially those possessing _opposable thumbs_.”

“Couldn’t we just get cleaners or somethin’?” He says, scrubbing a particularly stubborn spot of something orange off the end of a saucer. Christ, he’s been tasked with washing _cutlery_. “Like those Valentine kept saying he had?”

He doesn’t get a reply, not until he’s scrubbed the offending thing into oblivion and feels the stirrings of a victory dance for having triumphed one of the many lesser evils today.

Then Harry Hart; in the most dressed down state he’s been in save the red robe he had worn back in medical after a three months long coma, suit jacket and tie gone, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, leans near and into Eggsy’s space and says, measured and slow and explaining, “No, Eggsy. They, unfortunately, pose a greater risk than help, however menial their chores are.”

Eggsy, caught unawares and holding a teacup, nearly lets the fragile thing slip and saves it fractionally only by ceding control of the sponge. It does say something, however, about how Eggsy is never smooth when it comes to his mentor.

“ _Fuck_ ,” He swears, but by the time he wills his fingers to stop trembling, the sponge has made its slimy way down his pants and is now lying on the floor, looking so desolate Eggsy has no choice but to pick it up, groaning. He’s left with wet slacks for the night and a heart that seems content to run itself into an early grave.

Harry’s already sauntering away when he looks up; smiling to whatever agents still there at arse-o-clock, looking amiable and all Arthur in that moment, and Eggsy, catching Merlin’s sympathetic gaze from across the floor, glances away and goes back to scrubbing, feeling heat prick his cheeks, and a kind of sting in his nostrils.

* * *

 

 

To be exact, the conversation after the revelation of Harry Hart's not-death in the grand scheme of things had been the  _mortifying_  one.

Merlin had needed to fish for tissues while Eggsy - trying hard to stem the wetness coming from his eyes in an inexplicable rush of emotions – shaking like a bloody leaf, even with an impressive track record of having done dangerous things, even with being saddled with ugly knowledge he’d die the one time he found himself bleeding out from a gut wound with backup forty-five minutes away, having felt no cause for emotive action on any of those occasions, had been _weeping._

There’d been just something, Eggsy remembers feeling, a sense of rushing and overwhelming relief, a pulling of a frayed thing so tightly knotted in his chest he didn’t know had been there until he’d made Merlin borrow another box of Kleenex from the other office, and seated on the cold floor of the mission’s control room, Merlin looking nonplussed and bewildered, Eggsy recalls feeling like for the first time since Kentucky, how he’d managed to finally breathe again.

Also Merlin had patted him awkwardly on the back once he’d calmed down, crouched with his shoulder close to Eggsy’s face, and Eggsy had felt like they were finally brothers-in-arms, having bonded over violence taking down Valentine and now this moment of _feelings,_ leaned in and sniffled into Merlin’s cardigan.

Merlin had pushed him away in disgust at that, and Eggsy, snorting through a new film of tears had said, “Yeah _, yes._ Let’s go see Harry.”

Harry had been busy reading a book when he’d arrived, still hooked up to beeping machines that looked scary and otherworldly, paler and thinner than when he’d last saw him, but still so brilliantly alive and breathing, and an ache had neatly pushed through the cages of his ribs, slotted in and Eggsy knew right there that he’d never ever want to leave this gorgeous man’s side _ever again._

Eggsy will also later blame how he’d cross the room in three steps and firmly kissed the terrible man - on a momentarily lapse in cogent reasoning. But then Harry had been kissing back, biting and possessive and taking it all into stride, a hand coming to drag Eggsy’s head back by a fist in his hair, nosing at the exposed line of his throat, while Eggsy, dizzy and trying to stop his heart from crawling out of his throat had clutched at Harry the way Harry had at him, bordering on painful - _like a lifeline –_ and frantic and dearly clinging onto something precious.

* * *

 

 

Later, Eggsy will learn that Harry, when provoked, can be an _utter shite._

On one occasion where the mark'd unexpectedly tried touching places that should never be touched, Eggsy ends up spending a considerable amount of days walking about funny.

Roxy, had sniggered and shot him a look when she'd found out, and Merlin, looking somewhat ill when he'd noticed Eggsy sitting sideways in his chair had silently offered him a cushion. Eggsy had sat through that particular meeting with his cheeks hot and burning. Meanwhile, Harry Hart, saddled up in his office and doing whatever an Arthur does, had just smirked. 

 

* * *

  

The scrub down takes a week, where Eggsy ends up getting bullied into sleeping by Roxy and Merlin on four occasions and forgetting the rest. His excuse being that crockery being the fucking hardest to wash, and no one wants to get served tea in things that may have mutant goop growing on their surfaces - also note, a certain Harry Hart being all the way in Korea, but that is secondary really.

Also as it turns out, Kingsman has a _shit ton_ of cutlery and crockery, not to mention all the glassware they need to drink their expensive whiskey or brandy in.

He isn't also very sure why he's been in a strop, trying to avoid Harry the first two days he'd been around using every fucking imaginable trick in the book. It isn't that they've haven't gotten their feelings for each other out of the way, which by Rox, Eggsy has been told he looks utterly besotted with and gone for, that it's not only been visible from the  _moon_  and back, but has been potentially diabetes-inducing. It's just that ever since Hong Kong, which was four days prior to tech lab's massive dick-move, he's been feeling  _pissed._

By the seventh day, when Harry marches through the door -  all regal-looking -  to which Eggsy’s workplace sits, now abandoned in the break of dawn, Eggsy who’s pretty much dead on his feet and wondering if he’s seen the same pair of chopsticks yesterday, doesn’t exactly notice the entrance.

It isn’t until that Harry _Hart_ has a warm hand on his neck, and a thumb pressing up against the tender skin under Eggsy’s jaw that he realises he’s not alone. He startles, and very nearly drops the chopsticks back into the soapy mess, a soft noise escaping him, thinking oh, Harry's back-

“Fuck,” He says, bending away from Harry and feeling very much rattled by the proximity of Harry, by the branding _heat_ he still can feel burning its mark _into_ his skin, mumbles, “Warn a guy the next time, Harry.”

And Harry, who doesn’t move away, even when Eggsy steps to the side and drags his washbasin along with him, trying to avoid collateral damage to Harry’s suit, the plastic bottom screeching on the table top, sloppy water sloshing over the sides, only steps with him.  
  
“Eggsy,” He says after a moment’s pause, tone warm and it makes Eggsy so so goddamned dizzy with an unnameable thing rearing head in his chest, places a gentle hand on his shoulder, and squeezes, “Go _home_ and sleep, Eggsy.”

And Eggsy, feeling like he'd do anything else but that - lie down with such restlessness skittering beneath his skin - says, "I've just got a few more here, mate," gestures with his pruny hands towards a stack of plates. He turns back to scrubbing, squeezing the sponge too hard and deliberately ignoring Harry. Tries hard too to ignore the terrible ache that's been stoking in his chest for days; the drowning feeling he used to get when he saw how Dean'd treated mum and had been helpless to do anything, now spiking hot and anew.

"Eggsy," Harry says again, a hint of warning, and Eggsy shakes his head, " Eggsy, look _at_  me. _Please."_  then Harry's hands are cupping Eggsy's face, surprising him.

" 'arry," He protests, but Harry doesn't let up, gently and unyieldingly turns Eggsy's face to him. And while Eggsy doesn't want to, can't, he also can never,  _never_ look away when Harry's looking at him like this, sharp and demanding and expecting - so he clenches his jaw, relents and meets Harry's eye.

"Oh _Eggsy_ ," Harry says again, a glint of something darkening his eyes, his hands being so warm. He says it the way he only ever says it; when Harry Hart decides there's some world-changing to be done, sure and undeniable and willing tear apart anyone in the way-

And Eggsy just _knows,_ that what comes next is Harry Hart's answer to a question Eggsy had asked, thrown out alongside terrible words,  _before_  Hong Kong, _before_  the longest week where he'd had away from home had made him realise how impossible life would seem without this man and his posh suits and his elegant fuck-the-worlds, how  _hard_ it would be to wake up every day and  _want_ to live without, now that Eggsy has known, has seen a life with Harry-fucking-Hart in it, how scared and terrified and aching with fear he'd been when he knew he could end up losing Harry again.

"Death is an occupational hazard in this line of work." Harry says quietly, pausing to brush a thumb over the thin skin beneath Eggsy's eye, "And while, for whatever safety measures one does take, it is merely prolonging the inevitable." 

His tone is so understanding and gracious it makes Eggsy's breath hitch.

"Harry-" He says, "I know that-"

" _No,_ " Harry says gently, but his hands are pressing harder to Eggsy's jaw, drawing him in," Listen _now_ , Eggsy. Death is inevitable, and everyday, as Kingsmen, we must go out there with the intention of facing it- And I cannot promise you that what has happened with Valentine will not happen again- "

Harry leans in. Resting his forehead to Eggsy's. The gesture so adoring and tender it makes the pressure growing in his chest intensify, pushing hard against his ribs. " - but, Eggsy, my dear  _remarkable_  boy, I can promise you that for as long as I have _breath_ in me, I will always,  _always_  find my way back to  _you."_

The sentiment between those words steals his breath away.

And it is hard to to take in then, swallowing around the lump in his throat, the  _want_ Eggsy reads in it. The way Harry looks solemnly at him, like he'd never considered any other choice, any other fucking possibility-

"Harry-" He breathes, a harsh exhale and something starts to burst in his chest, suffusing the ache with warmth and happiness, and Eggsy feels his lips start to stretch, a grin breaking out and the urge to kiss Harry is so strong- Eggsy doesn't resist, just plants an open-mouthed kiss on Harry's, right there and pressed so close to him. Harry, as patient and gracious as ever, lets Eggsy have this.

"Yeah, me too." Eggsy eventually mumbles when he's done peppering kisses to the side of Harry's lips, quirked in fondness, unsure how to reply to the enormity of that confession, that  _promise_ that's been given to him for safekeeping.

Then Harry's pushing him back with firm hands and Eggsy sighs, knowing an order when he sees one, but feeling lighter either way.

‘Yeah, Harry,” He says, dropping the sponge he’s named Gawain which he now feels a comradeship with having served a disastrous round of washing duty together, and blinks against the tiredness. He stretches his spine and dislodges Harry’s hand from his shoulder, where it slides down the length of his arm in a warm, blazing trail before returning to Harry’s side, out of propriety.

 

* * *

 

 

He takes the keys to the car Harry offers him, sneaking in for another kiss that Harry tsks at before indulging him and goes to exit HQ, drags himself up the seats and settles in. The locks click in reassurance and Eggsy lets it autopilot him home; to the street which turns into and leads to Harry Hart’s house, lets Harry’s quiet voice filling the car rouse him from his dozing.  

He ends up fumbling idiotically with the locks for good ten minutes before he finally manages to let himself in and lets his feet take him up the flight of stairs, shedding his clothes in a long trail that Harry will chide him on – _spoiled brat –_ letting himself into Harry Hart’s _room_ and _bed_ , tired and bone-deep exhausted.

Lying among the sheets and pillows that smell like Harry and a million threadcount, Eggsy finally lets himself fall asleep, feeling somewhat weightless, dreams instead of bespoke suits and gleaming lights and every colour in the book, content and free.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr : [jinnism](http://www.jinnism.tumblr.com)


End file.
